Page 108 of The Duke's Dream
"Who are you?" The parakeet croaked. "Who are you?"
"I don't know," she whispered. "I don't know."
Panting, she reached for the door. Her fingers trembled as they fumbled with the latch.
She had to set it free. If she set him free, everything would be all right.
Strong hands grabbed her, pulling her away from the cage. She struggled, twisting her torso, kicking furiously.
"Helene, stop," William whispered, his warmth seeping into her chest.
Helene’s body went lax in his arms. "I must set him free."
William embraced her. "He won't survive the London winter. If you release him, he will die."
Whimpering, Helene clutched his coat and buried her face in his chest, needing to hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
"I'm sorry, Little One." He kissed the top of her head. "I'm sorry."
***
William held Helene in his lap during the ride to her building, her shivers echoing through his body. What if he couldn't contain the rumors? William stroked Helene's back, whispering reassurances, his gaze darting to the window. The mist had cleared, but a chilling rain lashed the silent streets.
Carrying her in his arms, William climbed the stairs of her building. Her silence squeezed his heart. Why had he placed her in such a fragile position? He would protect her at all costs, even if it meant exposing his house to scandal. After opening the door, he settled her on the bed. It pained him to leave, but he had to go to White's. He had to remove the bet.
William left a candle burning at her bedside, and after stoking the fire, he kissed her forehead. "Sweet dreams, Little One."
"Where are you going?"
"I have business to attend to."
She frowned, her voice husky. "At midnight?"
William shut his eyes. How could he tell her that if he didn't leave, she would be ruined? "I—"
"Say nothing. Just go." Helene's chin trembled. "You came, you saw, and you can boast you conquered La Sylphide. Wasn't that what you wanted?"
The bitter words pierced his chest. "What are you saying, Helene?"
"It is all everyone sees when they look at me. La Sylphide." Her breath hitched, and her eyes swam with tears.
William passed a hand over his face, his eyes burning. Hadn’t he done the same? Obsessed over the sprite on stage, been enthralled by the illusion, chased a fantasy? But now—God help him—he knew better. Knew the scent of her hair and the curve of her stubborn mouth. Knew to cherish her clever retorts and the strength behind her softness. Knew that La Sylphide was the dream, but Helene was the truth. Ever since he met her, she had challenged, defied, infuriated, and utterly entranced him.
“You conquered me, Little One. Not the Sylph. You. I have commanded regiments, debated the fate of nations, stood before kings without blinking. But one word from you, and I forget how to breathe.”
Her lips trembled. He brushed his thumb across her cheek.
"You conquered me, Little One. By God, you conquered me. I don't know how you do it with your delicate limbs and astute mind, but here I am, conquered."
She gave him a watery smile. "Then don't leave. Please."
William caught her in his arms, holding her close, needing to feel her heart beating against his.
She tore at his coat. "I need to see you. You will vanish if I don't see you."
He helped her peel off their clothes. Skin to skin, they meshed their bodies, their hearts pounding in sync—a rhythm of desperation and raw need.
She mounted him, his cock sinking deep into her core. A shudder went through her, and she moved fervently, grinding her hips to him as if she wished to meld their souls. Clawing at his skin, she wanted everything at once, feverishly, violently, tenderly—to kiss and be kissed by him, to caress and be caressed, to taste and be tasted, to explore and be explored, to love and be loved, as if their time was ending, as if their music was on the final beats.
